Janelle
The war room hummed with tension thick enough to cut with a blade.
I sat at the massive oak table, surrounded by the Southern Kingdom's military leaders, but I barely heard their heated discussions about troop movements and siege weapons. Every part of my body ached with a deep, bone-deep pain that had been getting worse since the messenger's arrival. My chest felt like it was being crushed, and sometimes I couldn't catch my breath.
"Princess Janelle?" General Marcus Blackwater's gruff voice cut through my haze. "Your thoughts on the northern approach?"
I blinked, realizing everyone was staring at me. Maps covered the table, marked with colored pins and battle formations. These men were planning to invade Ashwick, to use me as their excuse for war.
"I won't do it," I said quietly.
The room fell silent. King Edmund leaned forward, his brow furrowed with concern. "Janelle?"
